


A Knight for the Seven Kingdoms

by fanoftheknight



Series: A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: AU in which Daenerys and Jorah are both alive and happily ruling over the Seven Kingdoms (the show runners can prise my favourite couple out of my deathly cold hands)"Jorah Mormont would carry many regrets to his grave, but loving Daenerys Targaryen would not be one of them. Redemption is a road that must be travelled, but who says that road must be travelled alone?"





	1. In Sickness and in Wealth

**Author's Note:**

> I have been overwhelmed at the response to The Birds of Sorrow and I truly never expected such a wonderful reaction. Jorleesi shippers are absolutely the kindest and warmest group I've ever had the pleasure to come across. Thank you to each and every person who read, commented or left kudos - you guys are awesome!
> 
> This story is my attempt at a slightly longer piece involving more characters from the book/show. I'm rather nervous about getting the cadences of certain characters speech patterns correct, so please forgive me if some characters feel a little clunky at first.
> 
> You'll also notice that certain characters are not mentioned much in this story and that's mainly because of the absolute mess season 8 turned out to be. I did try to work out ways in which I could untangle all of the threads that the last season created but it gave me a monster of a migraine (I'm not kidding, this story would have been posted earlier but for the cluster of migraines I've had this week)
> 
> Season 8 was nothing more than shit sandwich with an extra serving of shit pickle on the side (just my humble opinion) and so please allow your minds to go with me as I subvert almost everything from episode 8.03 onwards into my own little universe where Danaerys and Jorah are very much alive and well.
> 
> My last story was definitely on the melancholic side and so I've tried to add a bit of levity in places in this one (hence including Davos and Tyrion)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy...

“Where the fucking hell are you, Mormont?” Ser Davos Seaworth muttered as he searched the courtyard for the knight.

Davos silently wondered how a man as tall and broad as Ser Jorah Mormont could be so hard to find.

Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had dismissed him from the feast to go in search of her husband. Jorah had never been at ease at such functions but he’d appeared more uncomfortable than usual tonight.

Davos hadn’t missed the way the Queen had kept glancing at the Lord Commander of her Queensguard as he absent-mindedly pushed the food around his plate. Even stranger, Ser Jorah had declined both wine and ale and had opted for a goblet of water instead.

Ser Jorah had been absent from the table long enough for others to start noticing. It had been then that Daenerys had nodded her head at Davos to find him.

It wasn’t uncommon to find Ser Jorah Mormont in the stables, taking care of his faithful stallion Meraxes, or talking to the stable boys and squires. Jorah had never been one for royal occasions and preferred to remain in the background and away from the politics that inevitably came with commanding a kingdom.

The knight from Bear Island had always been a man of few words and instead preferred to keep busy, training the rest of the Queensguard and helping out in the keep with tasks that most men in his position felt were beneath their station. Perhaps it was one of the reasons why Kings Landing had taken to their new monarch so quickly. Jorah was a man of the people and drew others to him, whether he realised it or not. While Daenerys Targaryen ruled over the Seven Kingdoms, her husband and consort had gained the love of the people far quicker than she.

Ser Davos searched high and low for his errant quarry and had been about to return to Queen Daenerys and her inevitable ire when he heard a groaning noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting.

Following the noise, he came across the sight of Ser Jorah Mormont on his hands and knees, retching and spitting bile from his mouth.

“Well you look like shit,” Ser Davos quipped as he took in the man before him.

Ser Jorah Mormont lifted his head and glared at the knight. Sweat glistened on his face, his skin taking on an odd pallor.

“I know you hate these things. I didn’t think you’d go so far as to poison yourself to get out of it though.”

“What do you want?” Jorah growled, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Our queen...who also happens to be your lovely lady wife sent me to look for you. She thinks you’ve fled and left her to dine with the dignitaries alone. She’s most upset.”

Davos heard Jorah groan as he tried to pull himself to his feet. He caught Jorah by the arm as he swayed dangerously. It would take nothing more than a soft breeze to knock the knight off of his feet again.

Grabbing hold of his arm, Davos felt the heat radiating off the other man. “Seven Hells, Mormont. You’re burning up.”

Jorah glared at him again before turning his head away and vomiting again.

“How long?’ Davos asked.

Jorah attempted to straighten up and stand to his full height, only to find the world spinning dangerously around him.

“I felt off this morning. Thought it was something I ate.”

Judging by the heat radiating from him, the wheezing noise every time Jorah breathed, and the odd tinge to his skin, it was obvious that something other than bad food had caused this. More than likely, it was the stomach fever that had been ripping through the city the past few weeks.

“Maybe our queen will be lenient with you once she knows this wasn’t just some ploy to avoid playing house with our friends from Dorne.”

The comment elicited another growl from Jorah. “Either help me back to my quarters or fuck off, Seaworth.”

The insult took Davos by surprise. It was not often that Ser Jorah Mormont resorted to using such language. Usually it was saved for when the knight had to tolerate the presence of Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen. The man had the innate ability to push Jorah’s buttons and would do so gleefully whenever he had the chance.

As gruff as his reputation was, Jorah was a kind and humble man and Davos considered him a friend and the harsh words had hurt. He’d been tempted to drop Jorah and leave him but thought better of it, knowing that the Queen would have his head if he did.

“I’ll put your charming temperament down to the fact that you look like you’ve been chewed up by Drogon and shat out backwards.”

Ser Jorah looked as if he were about to apologise when he turned to the side and retched once more.

It had taken longer than he expected to get Jorah back to the keep. He hadn’t realised how tall and awkward Jorah was until the man’s legs began shaking beneath him. It wouldn’t be long until they both ended up on the floor.

“I think you need to lose some weight old man,” Davos grumbled as they made their way down the corridor and towards the quarters that Jorah shared with Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

Even though there was peace throughout the Seven Kingdoms for the first time in many years, Ser Jorah Mormont insisted on training the knights of the Queensguard himself. From early morning until late evening, he would spend hours with his men, fighting, sparring and preparing them for war, should the time ever come. He would not grow old and fat like Robert Baratheon had. 

After the horror of the Battle of Winterfell and the near-fatal wounds Ser Jorah Mormont had received, many would have expected him to retire to a life of relative ease after Daenerys Targaryen claimed the Iron Throne. Even the Queen herself had told Jorah that he’d earned the right to step down as her protector.

The stubborn old bastard hadn’t of course and had instead thrown himself into any and all work that needed doing after the siege of Kings Landing.

“A queen’s consort doesn’t bother himself with the work of the smallfolk,” Tyrion Lannister had told him shortly after the Queen’s coronation.

“I’m a knight, I know nothing else,” Jorah had grumbled in response.

“You best learn then, Mormont.”

Jorah had glared at the small man. “And you best keep your thoughts to yourself, imp, and I might just let you keep your tongue.”

Tyrion smiled, arched an eyebrow and had carried on walking. Neither would say it, but the two men had a grudging respect for one another and it showed in their combative repartee.

Ser Davos shifted the other man’s weight once more. He could feel Jorah sagging further into him as they stumbled their way down the corridor. 

“You’re not being much help, Mormont.”

It elicited nothing more than a grunt from Jorah. Upon glancing, Davos could see that the man was struggling to even lift his head. It wouldn’t be long before Jorah's strength failed him completely.

“Greyscale and white walkers haven’t killed you. A damned fever isn’t going to either,” Davos said, although he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Mormont or himself.

Turning the corner, Davos spotted one of the Unsullied soldiers guarding the door to the Queen’s chambers. “Well don’t just stand there man,” Davos growled as he felt his hold on Jorah slip, “help me get him inside.”

They all but dragged the knight into the room and laid him on the bed. Jorah’s eyes rolled upwards as his head fell to one side. Davos could hear the wheezing each time the man took a breath.

The stomach fever had killed its share of people, but those had mainly been the weak and the old. Ser Jorah was tougher and fitter than most men half his age. After everything the man had survived, it seemed ridiculous that something as trivial as illness would take the man to his grave.

The fever had gripped him quickly and looked to be raging through the knight’s system. Ser Davos Seaworth began to fear the worst.

Nodding to the Unsullied soldier who stood in the corner of the room, “Send for the maester and then advise the Queen that her presence is required in her chambers.”

The solider looked at him with uncertainty. “Are you waiting for me to fucking write it down? Go. Now!”


	2. The Stubbornness of Ser Jorah Mormont

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding like I am repeating myself, thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented on or left kudos for my story. It really makes my day to know that people are enjoying it!

Queen Daenerys Targaryen tried to keep her anger at bay and her mind on the conversation at the dinner table, hoping that her surreptitious glances at the doorway had gone unnoticed by her Dornish guests.

Ser Davos Seaworth had been gone longer than was reasonable. To explain her husband Jorah’s absence was one thing, but to explain her master of ship’s disapearance would make the situation seem suspicious.

“Is everything ok, Your Grace?” The Prince of Dorne asked as he took another sip from his goblet of wine.

Daenerys attempted a smile and cleared her throat. “Of course. I hope the food and hospitality have been to your liking so far.”

“We’re honoured at your invitation, Your Grace. We have many things to discuss, particularly concerning trade between our great kingdoms.”

Daenerys shifted awkwardly. “Please excuse the absence of Ser Davos. I’m sure he won’t be long and we can then return our attentions back to the matters we need to discuss. I’m sure that we can find terms that are most agreeable to both parties.”

She knew that Jorah hated occasions such as these and had never seen himself as much of a man for politics, but she would make her displeasure known for his continued absence tonight. Thoughts of feeding the man she loved to Drogon had crossed her mind more than once this evening….

“I suggest more wine while we wait,” Tyrion interjected as he motioned to a serving girl for another flagon of wine. 

Wine had always been Tyrion Lannister’s answer to everything. All good answers could always be found at the bottom of a goblet of wine. According to the dwarf himself, at least.

As angry as she felt with Jorah right now, she knew that she would not be able to stay so for long. He would look at her with those achingly blue eyes of his, eyes that spoke go how much he loved her and how devoted he was to her.

It had taken Jorah almost dying in her arms for her to finally realise how much she loved him. She had held his hand over the many days and nights after the battle at Winterfell, signing treaties and governing her people from his bedside. His recovery had not been certain and it had taken weeks for him to rise from his sickbed, but she had never been so happy to see him as the day he finally found himself back on his feet, albeit unsteadily at first, and by her side once more.

It had been an uphill battle to convince him that her love for him was true and not borne of some misplaced sense of guilt or duty. She’d realised all too late her folly in pushing him away for so long. Like a dog that had been kicked too much, Jorah had become wary of her overtures of affection toward him, not trusting that she truly cared for him in the way he did her.

She had resolved to be as stubborn as her gruff old bear and had worn him down day after day, week after week, until he finally began to believe that perhaps she truly loved him as he loved her. She had feared that she would have to resort to ordering him to kiss her until one night after walking her back to her quarters, he took matters into his own hands and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

He’d broken away so quickly afterwards that it took her by surprise. He’d immediately looked crestfallen that he had crossed a line with her and caused irreparable damage to the relationship he cherished so highly.

“Khaleesi,” he said, touching a hand to his lips, scarcely believing what he’d just done.

“By all that is holy, Jorah. You took your time,” she smiled in response, her hands on her hips. “We’ve been standing here growing older while you flap back and forth like an old crone at a wedding.”

Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it certainly hadn’t been that as his eyebrow crooked in mild amusement. “That’s quite colourful language, Khaleesi.”

“I love you, Jorah,” she told him as she took his hands in her own. “I have loved you for so long and yet you are the only man who raises such ire in me. If you were any other man, I would feed you to Drogon for making me wait so long.”

Her smile softened the words she spoke to him and he’d responded in kind with a smile of his own.

“Aye, Your Grace. I can only apologise for keeping the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms waiting. I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive this lowly knight.” He chuckled shyly as he dipped his head to cover his smile.

She placed a hand under his chin to raise his eyes to hers. “You are far more than a knight to me, Ser, and you have never been lowly. Not in my eyes. You are a man that I wish to spend the rest of my days with.”

She’d seen his Adams apple bob as he swallowed nervously. “Khaleesi, the people would never accept me. I’m an exiled knight with no honour. There are far better matches out there for you.”

She kissed him deeply before answering him. “Ser Jorah Mormont, you have more honour than any man I have ever known. No one has loved, guarded and protected me like you. Never once have you been anything less than my closest friend and most trusted advisor. There is no better man to stand with me than you, my dear bear.”

“But my past - “

“Is just that,” she replied, cutting him off before he could list the many reasons why he felt she would be better off with anyone but him. “You are not the man you were all those years ago, just as I am not the frightened young girl you met in Pentos.”

“Khaleesi, I do not deserve your love. The things that I’ve done - “

She felt her anger grow at his continued insistence that he wouldn’t be good enough for her. “When will you learn to forgive yourself as I have done so. Why do you insist on torturing yourself so?”

“Forgive me,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I have a reputation for being a stubborn old fool it would seem. At least that’s what Tyrion would have me believe.”

“It has been that stubbornness that has kept you by my side, Ser. It is that stubbornness that has saved my life more times than I can count. It’s the reason you're still here and I thank the old gods and the new that you are. I cannot do this without you.”

He’d looked at her as she spoke and still she could see the uncertainty flicker across his handsome features. “Do you trust me, Ser?”

He stood slightly taller at her question. “Aye, Khaleesi. I would do whatever you command of me.”

She took a step closer to him, grabbing his tunic and pulling him toward her. “Then I command you to kiss me.”

———————

An Unsullied solider whispering to Grey Worm had caught her attention and brought her back to the present with a jolt. For the first time in what seemed like years, Grey Worm appeared concerned as he approached her.

Her eyes widened as she took in his words before nodding to her guard to take his leave. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and attempted to keep her composure as she spoke to her dinner guests.

“Please excuse me, my husband has been taken quite unwell and I must needs return to my quarters.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the Prince of Dorne replied as he stood, bowing his head. “It is my hope that whatever ails Ser Jorah is not too serious, although I have heard many great stories about his strength and courage.”

Her eyes flicked to Tyrion who poured more wine for the guests. “Ah yes, have I ever told you the story of Ser Jorah Mormont’s glory that night at Winterfell?” the dwarf began, allowing her to make a prompt exit from the room. “It is quite the story to tell…”

Tyrion’s voice grew quieter as she followed Grey Worm down the halls and towards her quarters. “What happened?’ She asked her trusted commander.

“I do not know, Your Grace. My soldier say that Ser Davos sent for the maester and that Ser Jorah is sick.”

Anxiety gnawed at her insides as she walked towards her quarters, her mind suddenly taking her back to those cruel and cold nights in Winterfell. Jorah had been carried into the infirmary more dead than alive and it had taken all of Samwell Tarly’s persistence and skill to bring him back from the brink of death.

She’d nearly lost him once and it had almost destroyed her. She prayed that whatever ailed him now would not take him away from her.

Daenerys arrived at the same time as Samwell Tarly who stood awkwardly shifting bottles of potions and books in his arms. “I came as soon as I could, Your Grace,” he said, looking flustered.

A queen should never lower themselves to pleading and yet Daenerys would drop to her knees and beg for her husband’s life if that’s what it took.

“Please, Sam. I need him….I can’t lose him.”

The Maester looked at her and swallowed nervously as he opened the door. “I’ll do everything I can, Your Grace. You have my word.”


	3. A Gift For My Lady on Her Name Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that Jorah was so good with his hands?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have been in a bit of a writing frenzy when it comes to this story and so I am posting the next chapter earlier than I intended as I am further along in the storyline (in terms of first drafts) than I expected to be.
> 
> So here's an unexpected Tuesday offering for you...

Samwell Tarly placed the bottles and books on the nearest desk and walked toward the man lying on the bed. He hissed as he put a hand on Jorah’s forehead, feeling the stinging heat emanating from the man’s body.

“How long has he been like this?’ Sam asked over his shoulder.

Davos shrugged in response. “I found him by the stables a short while ago.”

“He’s burning up, that’s for certain, and these clothes aren’t helping.”

Ser Davos and the Unsullied solider began to shift awkwardly.

“You may both leave,” Daenerys commanded and watched both men exit the room, shutting the door behind them. Sam gave her a grateful look. “What can I do to help?” She asked as she made her way to her husband’s bedside.

“We need to remove everything save his breeches, Your Grace.” Sam suddenly felt a blush creeping over his features. “I….I….can do that myself….if….if…you like.”

It took a number of moments to realise why Sam suddenly felt so uncomfortable at the idea of undressing Jorah with the help of his wife. Sam wasn’t a naive man and his thoughts had probably gone to a carnal image he’d rather not have imagined. If she wasn’t so concerned for Jorah, she might have found it amusing.

Wordlessly, they stripped the clothing from Jorah’s body as he lay unmoving on the bed, save for the occasional pained groan and the sound of his laboured breathing.

Daenerys let her eyes roam across the broad chest of her husband. She knew every scar on his body, they were a roadmap of his life and everything he had been through to remain at her side. From the wound on his hip caused by an Arakh blade, the scarred remnants of his greyscale ordeal, and the near fatal wounds from the war against the dead, each scar told a story of his devotion, loyalty, and love.

Grabbing some clean cloth, Sam dipped the fabric in a bowl of cold water and placed it on Jorah’s forehead, eliciting a groan from the older man. He watched as Jorah’s eyes fluttered open briefly before closing again.

Sam shook his head in concern. “We need to get some fluids into him. I have some herbal remedies that might help bring his fever down...if we can get him to keep it down for long enough.”

Daenerys nodded and placed a hand on her husband’s cheek, gently shaking his shoulder with her other hand. “Jorah,” she said softly.

“Ser Jorah, open your eyes. Your queen commands it.”

She hadn’t expected it to work, yet somehow Jorah forced his eyes open and looked at her. He was compelled to follow her commands, even in unconsciousness. His eyes were clouded with fever and confusion.

“Khalee - “ he began before she cut him off with a finger to his lips.

Sam passed her a goblet. She held it to Jorah’s lips, commanding him to drink it all, shaking his shoulder several times as his eyes drooped closed.

Making sure he was comfortable, Daenerys looked at Sam who stood nervously in the corner.

“We….we need to make sure he has enough fluids inside him while the stomach sickness passes through his system.”

“Can it be fatal?” 

Sam dropped his eyes to the ground. “It can be in some cases…if the fever isn’t brought under control…..if we can’t stop the vomiting… Ser Jorah is the strongest man I’ve ever met, Your Grace.” He said the words with conviction.

She smiled at him. “You care for Ser Jorah a great deal,” she observed.

Sam busied himself readying another herbal remedy. “He’s been good to me. Just like his lord father.”

The silence stretched between them before Sam spoke again.

“Early in the mornings, before the rest of the keep rises, Ser Jorah has been teaching me the basics of swordsmanship.”

Daenerys made herself comfortable on her husband’s bedside, absently tucking strands of hair behind his ear.

“I’ve wondered why he’s been rising so early.”

“I was useless during the battle at Winterfell. I’ll never be a great knight like Ser Jorah, I’m too craven for that. I just want to be able to protect my family….should there ever come a time when I need to.”

“And Ser Jorah is a good teacher?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “He’s patient with me. Lord knows that it's taken me long enough to grasp even the most basic moves. My brothers in the Nights Watch tried to teach me… without much luck, I’m afraid.”

“Our gruff bear is not as grumpy as he would have people believe.”

“Aye, Your Grace. His roar is worse than his claws…not that he would ever let anyone know that.” Sam smiled at the thought.

It was one of the many reasons that Daenerys loved her husband. Despite what others considered his outwardly dour demeanour, Jorah was a kind and compassionate man. His soft heart had led him astray in the past and yet he’d never lost his sense of compassion or had forgone his oath to protect the innocent and those weaker than himself.

“And how is Little Sam?” Daenerys asked as she stroked her husband’s shoulder tenderly.

“He’s good, Your Grace,” Sam replied, ringing out another cloth and replacing the one on Jorah’s forehead. “He comes home each evening telling Gilly and I all the things that Ser Jorah has had him doing.”

Now that Little Sam was of age, Jorah had asked Samwell if his son would like a position as his squire. At only nine years old, he was still too young to learn most of the skills to become a knight, but the boy had been overjoyed at the opportunity to squire for a knight, and the queen’s consort, at that.

Samwell and Gilly had initially turned down the offer made by the Queen and Ser Jorah, citing that Little Sam was bastard-born. They both feared that he would be seen as lesser than the other boys squiring for knights in Kings Landing. The issue had been remedied immediately as Daenerys legitimised both Little Sam and Gilly in front of her royal court.

“And Lana?” Daenerys asked, a tired smile on her lips. “How is my favourite cup bearer-to-be?”

“She’s a fierce little thing, just like her mother,” Sam chuckled as he packed several bottles into a box. “She’ll have any boy running in fear when she comes of age, no doubt.”

“And it is to be her name day soon?”

Sam looked at her in surprise. He, a failed man of the Nights Watch and an inexperienced maester, the Queen was hardly likely to trouble herself remembering the name days of all of her people.

Daenerys’ gaze dropped to her husband once more. “He’s been whittling on that piece of wood for weeks,” she said softly, gesturing to the half-finished carving of a bear on one of the desks.

It seemed as if Jorah could never keep still, even when the Seven Kingdoms were enjoying an enduring peace throughout the lands. Whether it was training his men, tending to his horse, or carving intricate woodwork designs, Jorah always seemed to have something in his hands to soothe whatever was on his mind. She knew all too well how prone to brooding he could be, and if keeping his hands busy also worked for his mind, then she would gladly tolerate the soft noises as he planed and carved his woodwork of a night.

“Lana still carries that dragon around everywhere, Your Grace. She had a fearful temper when I tried to take it off of her once.”

It brought a smile to Sam’s lips to remember Lana’s last birthday when Ser Jorah had approached her.

“I hear it is my lady’s name day,” he’d said as he crouched down to meet her gaze so that his size didn’t intimidate her.

Lana had nodded her head shyly, looking up at her parents for confirmation that she should be talking to the knight.

“I see,” Jorah had said, smiling at her. “Would my lady be so kind as to pick a hand?” He asked as he held his clenched fists out to her.

Lana had looked at her parents again for reassurance before tapping his right hand gently.

“Good choice, my lady,” Jorah said as he opened his hand to reveal a small wooden dragon. “This is for you.”

Sam shook the thought away and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, you and Ser Jorah have been so kind to my family. I’m not sure what we’ve done to deserve such an honour.”

“You have saved Jorah’s life twice already. Had you not been brave enough to risk removing the greyscale….had you not tended his many wounds at Winterfell… I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, Samwell Tarly. If it is in my power to make the lives of you and your family more comfortable, then I will gladly do everything I can to make it so.”

Daenerys looked down at her husband, who groaned slightly at her touch. “I have already asked so much of you, Sam…but I ask….I beg you to do everything you can for Jorah.”

Sam nodded his head frantically. “I give you my word, Your Grace. May I suggest that you try to get some rest. I can get someone to tend to Ser Jorah in your stead.”

Daenerys shook her head. “It would not be wise in his condition. He has…..”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Sam had been present through several of the fevered dreams Jorah had suffered as he battled to recover at Winterfell. It was then the demons would come for him and haunt his dreams.

“I understand, Your Grace. I can stay with him though. I can assure that your confidence will be kept.”

“It is kind of you to offer, but you have a family who I am sure will be eager to see you this evening.”

“As it pleases you, Your Grace, I’ll be by first thing in the morning. Have someone come fetch me if he worsens during the night.

Daenerys gave him a tight smile, hoping that Sam wouldn’t be needed again until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to forgive me if I have played with Little Sam's age a bit in this story as it is set roughly 3 or 4 years after the Battle of Winterfell. Therefore, I assuming Little Sam will be 9-ish and the baby Gilly was pregnant with is 3 or 4 now.
> 
> It's pretty much all canon-divergence from 8.03 onwards so please forgive me for taking liberties with the Tarly children! :)


	4. Midnight Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only is Jorah good with his hands, he's good with other things too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references to some 'bow-chicka-bow-wow' in this chapter, but I'm afraid that you'll have to use your imagination for the details.
> 
> I am no good at writing smut (unlike a lot of writers in our fandom) and so I will leave it to the...ahem...experts...
> 
> I've tried writing smut in the past and it came out reading more like an anatomy essay. I didn't so much bring the 'funk' as I did the 'clunk'.
> 
> Long story short, you'll have to use your smutty imagination when it comes to the sexy time!

Daenerys had been content to sit and watch her husband for a while. The only sounds in the room were the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the laboured, wheezy breaths from Ser Jorah.

She stroked his arm softly as she placed another cool cloth on his forehead, marvelling at how right it seemed to have him in her bed.

How had she been so blind to waste so many years denying the inevitable to herself? 

She had spurned the chance to be happy so many times and had hurt the man she truly loved in ways that she would never be able to make right.

It had taken weeks to coax Ser Jorah into anything more than kissing her after the first time their lips met. She’d been told that people from Bear Island had the strength of ten mainlanders, it seemed as if they had the stubbornness of ten men too, if Ser Jorah was anything to go by.

Not to be deterred, she had stuck to her task and had worn down his resolve as he walked her back to her quarters one night.

He’d been ready to wish her a good evening when she grabbed the lapels of his tunic and hauled him into her quarters.

“Khaleesi, what are you doing?” He’d asked as he heard the door slam shut behind him.

“I am taking matters into my own hands, seeing as you won’t, Ser.”

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone. As a queen and woman, she did not like to be kept waiting.

“Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink,” Jorah suggested, wincing when he saw the look of fury flash across her beautiful features.

“And perhaps you have not had enough,” she countered as she fingered the collar of his tunic.

He’d tried to back away from her but felt himself being pushed into the solid wooden door.

“Khaleesi, I don’t want you to do something I’ll regret tomorrow.”

She’d seen the sorrow in his eyes as he spoke. It pained her to know that he thought she would no longer want him after this night was over.

“The only thing I will regret is not knowing what it feels like to be held in the arms of the man I love. The man who loves me better than any man ever has.”

“Are you sure?” He asked tentatively.

“We would not be here if I were not, Ser.”

Her hands began to unbutton his tunic as their mouths met for a passionate kiss. Pulling the fabric from his shoulders, she ran her hands up and down his scarred chest.

His hands paused suddenly. She could feel him tense at her touch.

“Khaleesi, I am neither young nor handsome. My body - “

She silenced him with a finger on his lips. 

“Your scars are beautiful. They remind me of everything you’ve done for me. They are symbols of your devotion and love.”

He’d almost lost himself there and then as her hands and lips performed an erotic dance across his body. It took all of his determination and willpower to deny his need for instant gratification. Instead, he broke contact and took a step back, smiling at her brief look of disappointment.

His hands went to the ties on the back of her dress as he kissed her neck softly. He was going to take his time exploring her body with his hands, his mouth….

Both of them had lost themselves in the carnal choreography of undressing one another while not breaking contact and had found their way to the bed. Jorah laid her down gently and began his exploration of her body all over again. This wouldn’t just be a quick fumble, he would take his time showing just how much he loved her.

He’d brought her to her peak several times with his hands and mouth, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of when their bodies joined intimately for the first time. The pace had been sweet and slow and Jorah had wanted the moment to last forever, making sure that she met her release before he did.

The sated look on her face had told him all he needed to know. She sighed contentedly as he rolled away and held her in his arms.

“Jorah,” she’d moaned his name and it was almost enough to make him hard again.

His hands found their way to her hair as he softly ran his hands through it.

“If I’d had known it would be this good, I wouldn’t have waited so long to be with you.”

He’d kissed her forehead. “I’d wait a thousand lifetimes to be with you, Khaleesi. I’d very much like to show you again and again how much I love you, if you’ll let me.”

His stamina shouldn’t have surprised her. After all, this was a man who had kept standing long after men many would have died on the battlefield. He’d taken several blows at Winterfell that would have killed lesser men.

She ran her finger across his chest, ghosting her finger across one of his scars.

“Would you think less of me if I said that I would very much like just to fall asleep in your arms. I feel so safe with you…as if nothing could ever harm me when you’re by my side.”

“I will always keep you safe, Khaleesi. I would rather die than see you hurt.”

“I would very much like you to show me how much you love me each and every night until the end of our days, but for now, I would just like you to hold me.”

They had barely spent a night apart since and Jorah had pleasured her in ways no other man could. Perhaps it was because their connection was so much more than just a physical one. She had been with men like Daario and the attraction between them had been purely physical. With Jorah, it was so much more and made the ecstacy even more delicious when they made love.

She had considered lying down next to him, watching over him and protecting him from his fevered dreams when he suddenly opened his eyes and spoke.

“It’s a lie, you know,” he croaked as his eyes cracked open a fraction. She wasn’t sure if he was aware of her presence or if he knew where he was.

“What is?” She asked as she stroked his cheek tenderly.

“That I despise Tyrion.”

She smirked. “Is that so?”

“He can be good company at times. Not that I would ever tell him. I’d never hear the end of it.” he mumbled as his eyes began to close once more.

“I promise not to tell. I shall guard your secret with my life, good ser.”

She’d thought he’d fallen back into a dreamless sleep when he coughed and gasped, his laboured breathing shattering the silence in the room. Grabbing a goblet of water, she held it to his lips as she supported him to sit up before guiding him back to the soft mound of pillows and pulling the sheet further up his body as the chills began to wrack his body.

His eyes fluttered a couple of times. “I’m in love with the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms,” he muttered, no doubt not aware of her presence.

“I have no idea what she sees in an old, shamed knight like me. I’m just grateful that she does.”

It hurt her to think that he felt so little about his worth to her, not only as a man, but as a knight. As much as she would tell herself otherwise, she had been responsible for much of his self-doubt. It had been her alone who had inflicted those wounds on his heart.

“Perhaps she loves him because he is the most honourable, kind, and loving man that she has ever met. A man that she trusts her heart and soul to.”

She felt the physical pang of pain in her chest as she saw a tear roll down his weathered cheeks. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. I’ve brought shame on my family and my people. The only thing I’ve ever done right is loving her. She’s my world, she’s everything to me.”

She kissed away the tear on his face before readying herself for bed. She would watch over him as he had watched over her for countless nights, protecting him from anything that meant him harm.

“And you are everything to the woman you love,” she whispered in his ear as she lay beside him. “You are her world. She cannot survive without you by her side.”

Closing her eyes, Daenerys prayed to every god, old and new, that she would never feel the pain of losing the man who had become the most precious thing in the world to her.


	5. In a Stable Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of hay, horses and horniness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how familiar people are with the phrase 'having one's oats' but it is a British colloquialism for erm....having sex, basically.
> 
> There is mention of 'oatage' in this chapter, so I just wanted to clarify in what context the line is meant.... :)

Although it hadn’t been a restful night, Daenerys was glad to see the sun beginning to peek through into their quarters. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes and glanced at the man in her bed, thankful that the fevered dreams that plagued him throughout the night seemed to have left him for the time being.

She had watched over him for hours last night until the need for sleep became too much for her tired body to deny. She had fallen into a dreamless slumber only to be woken by the pained sounds of her lover as he began tossing restlessly.

It caused her physical pain to see him distressed. She could tell by the grimace on his face and the set of his jaw that whatever he was seeing in his dream was not pleasant.

She reached out a hand to touch him and had been taken by surprise when one of his arms shot forward as he attempted to protect himself from some unseen ghoul. She caught his flailing arm and held his large hand in her own, kissing the knuckles as she held it close to her own body.

“Run, Khaleesi,” he croaked as his other hand came up to push at nothing but thin air.

She tried again to calm him and jumped back slightly when he sat upright in the bed, his lungs heaving and attempting to take in oxygen as he coughed and gasped. It took him several moments to take in his surroundings. He looked at her, confusion written clearly on his features.

“Shhh, everything is ok,” she crooned into his ear. She placed one hand on his chest to guide him back toward the pillows and could hear the heavy thumping of his heart. It was too fast for her liking.

“Daenerys,” he whispered through dry, cracked lips.

Reaching over, she guided a goblet into his hand and held it to his lips as he drank, heeding Sam’s words that Jorah needed as many fluids in him as possible if he were to fight off the sickness and fever attacking his body.

The last few mouthfuls ended up on the bedsheets, but Daenerys was satisfied that she’d been able to get something into him and that he’d been able to keep it down.

“Daenerys,” he whispered once more as his eyes drifted shut.

The use of her name caught her unawares. Ever since his banishment in Mereen, he had hardly ever called her anything other than Khaleesi and never instigated any physical contact between them unless she made the first move.

It had been a source of frustration for her until he’d finally confessed the reasons as to why he sought to place distance between them. She had spent that night alone, crying in her chambers for the damage her careless words had caused him. He had taken to heart every word she’d said that fateful day in Mereen. Words that she had said in anger and in spite.

It only served to prove how utterly devoted he was to her that he would deny himself happiness if she commanded him to. He would never do anything to cause her pain or harm. How many more times did he feel that he needed to prove it?

It had taken many long months for Daenerys to break down the walls of resolve that Jorah had built around his heart. Once those foundations had been excavated, she set about building a new fortification, one in which Jorah could be sure of her feelings toward him and his place in her life.

It was in his nature to placate her, tempering her more impetuous ways with his pragmatic approach that had come with age and wisdom. There were times when his obstinance would generate an anger in her that she’d never felt before and it usually had to do with his insistence that he was somehow less worthy than other men when it came to the affairs of Westeros and its people.

It had been a source of contention between the two of them when she had asked Jorah to rule the Seven Kingdoms by her side as her husband and king. He had flatly refused, leading to both of them losing their temper and raising their voices as their innate stubborn natures refused to allow either of them to back down from their positions.

“Then perhaps I have made a grave mistake in wanting to marry you,” she had spat at him, instantly regretting the words as she saw his crestfallen expression.

Grabbing his sword belt, he'd stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Too angry at herself, it had taken Daenerys hours to find the courage to go looking for him. She knew he would be somewhere within the keep, brooding and licking his wounds silently.

She’d found him in the stables, brushing down his faithful silver stallion Meraxes.

“Jorah, I’ve been looking for you,” she said as she approached the stall.

He refused to look at her as he continued tending to his horse. “You’ve found me, Your Grace.”

The cold way he spoke to her stung cruelly. The use of her title had been with the intention of wounding her further.

“Jorah, please. What I said - “

He looked at her then. “Was correct,” he said cutting her off. “There are much better men than I for you. It was foolish of me to tell myself otherwise.”

She watched him place a bucket of oats and apples in front of his horse.

“May I come in?”

“You are the queen, you may do as you please.”

His words sounded so hollow. He refused to look at her.

“What I said earlier…. I did not mean it….you have a way of waking the dragon in me, Ser.” She said, a rueful smile on her face. Viserys had often spoken of waking the dragon and now she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“My apologies for angering you.”

His continued belligerence tore through any resolve that she might have had to keep her temper.

“I don’t want your apologies, I want you to love me!”

He turned to look at her, his own anger and hurt forgotten. “I do. I always have, Khaleesi.”

The term of endearment thawed her anger in an instant.

“Then rule the Seven Kingdoms with me,” she implored him.

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“I will always be by your side until you no longer want or need me, but the Seven Kingdoms are yours to rule alone. It is the right thing to do.”

She reached up a hand to touch his cheek tenderly. “There will never be a day when I don’t need you by my side, Jorah. If you will not rule with me, will you at least still marry me?”

He gave her a lopsided grin as Meraxes used his head to nudge his rider into the arms of the woman he loved.

“Meraxes, behave,” he groused good-naturedly at the horse as he took Daenerys in his arms.

“Your horse knows you too well, Ser. Perhaps he finds your hesitation as frustrating as I do.”

Taking her words as a challenge, he kissed her deeply and pushed her further into the stall, pulling at the ties on her dress.

“Jorah,” she gasped in between heated kisses. “We cannot.”

“Says who?” He grinned as he continued his fervent assault on her body.

She had no idea where this new side of Jorah had come from. He was commanding and adventurous and it only served to turn her on further. This forceful side of him was a welcome surprise and she found herself getting lost in the feel of his hands and lips all over her body.

“Meraxes - “ she whispered, already knowing she’d lost this particular battle as Jorah laid her down in the bales of hay.

“Is busy having his own oats.”

The anticipation of getting caught in the most compromising of positions had made the sex even more thrilling. Daenerys had bitten down on Jorah’s shoulder as she found her release while he buried his face in her neck as he followed shortly after.

They both dressed quickly, helping one another to straighten their clothing before making their way from the stall. Their hopes of escaping unnoticed were dashed when Tyrion walked across to them.

“Ah, I have been looking for you everywhere, Your Grace. We have some important business to attend to.”

She’d still had that warm afterglow covering her cheeks. “Ser Jorah and I were just discussing mounting and riding techniques for the upcoming tourney.”

“And it would seem that he’s done a thorough job of it, Your Grace,” Tyrion smiled as he motioned to her head.

Blushing, she pulled a piece of straw from her hair and dropped it to the ground.

Tyrion turned, calling over his shoulder as he walked away. “You’ve missed a button, Mormont.”


	6. The Strength of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Jorah Mormont teaches Little Sam a valuable lesson about strength and courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been overwhelmed by the response to this story and to 'More Than Words' and I wanted to reassure you that I will be posting regular chapters of AKFTSK as the first drafts for each chapter are now complete. I should be able to keep posting a new chapter every 3-4 days hopefully.
> 
> Updates to my other story may only be once a week as it is still a work in progress.
> 
> Here's chapter 6, I hope you enjoy!

“Now is not a good time,” Samwell Tarly huffed as his son followed him down the corridor to the quarters of the queen and her husband.

“But Ser Jorah - “ Little Sam continued undeterred.

“Will not be with you today,” Sam cut him off, his irritation growing at his son’s insistence. “There is still plenty for you to do in his absence.”

“But why won’t he - “

Sam had been about to answer when the door to Queen Daenerys Targaryen’s quarters opened. He found himself face to face with her. He risked a quick glance at the Unsullied solider posted outside the door, he’d never been able to get use to them.

“Your Grace,” he spluttered nervously.

Daenerys tried to give him a reassuring smile, though it was clear to see that she’d had anything but a restful night. She peered around and saw Little Sam standing next to his father.

“How are you, Sam?” She asked the boy, momentarily putting her concerns for her husband to one side in order to greet his squire.

The boy seemed to grow an inch or two taller as he held himself straighter in front of his queen. “Father says that I won’t be squiring for Ser Jorah for a few days.”

He’d sounded disappointed.

Daenerys shot Samwell an understanding look, crouching down to the boy’s level. “Ser Jorah has been taken ill and needs to rest.”

The boy looked genuinely stricken and glanced nervously at his father. “But he’ll be ok, Your Grace?”

She squeezed Little Sam’s shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “With your father as our maester, I believe that he will be fine.”

“Father is good at such things,” Little Sam nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. “When Lana was sick, he knew just what to do to make her better again.”

Daenerys glanced at the elder Tarly, knowing that the young boy had not always been so confident in his father’s abilities, either as a maester or a man.

It had not been long into the young boy’s squiring for Ser Jorah Mormont that she had overheard a conversation between her husband and the young boy.

It had been widely known that Little Sam had thrown himself into learning everything he could from Jorah and had been the envy of the other boys when he’d been chosen to train alongside the famous and feared Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.

It had seemed as if the notion of being under the great knight’s tutelage had gone to the boy’s head as he mocked boys smaller than himself on his way to the quarters of the queen and her consort to begin another day’s training.

Daenerys had been walking through the courtyard with Ser Davos, discussing trade deals and shipping costs when the sight of her husband talking to the young boy caught her eye. Stopping, she made sure that she was out of Jorah’s line of sight as she listened to their conversation.

“You’ve not been endearing yourself to the other squires, Sam,” Ser Jorah said as he handed his riding gear to the young boy.

“They’re just jealous,” the boy huffed arrogantly. “I’m going to be a great knight, just like you, Ser.”

Daenerys allowed herself a small smile at the sound of her husband’s tired sigh.

“There are more important things in life than being a knight.”

“Like being a maester?” The derision was clear in his voice.

“Your father - “

“He isn’t my father,” Sam cut him off. “Not my real one anyway. He’s a maester because he’s too craven to be a knight.”

The silence spoke volumes. Ser Jorah Mormont could strike fear into a man with just a look. Daenerys instinctively felt bad for the young boy. She risked a glance to see that Jorah had lowered himself to one knee and had begun taking off the gauntlet on his left hand. She saw the young boy wince at the scarred and knotted flesh.

“You see this?” Jorah pointed to his arm, heavily scarred with the harmless remains of greyscale.

She saw the smug grin fall from Sam’s face as he took in the gruesome sight of Jorah’s ruined flesh.

“Samwell Tarly was the only man brave enough to try to cure my condition. He risked his life to save mine when no one else would.”

She watched her husband stand up, pulling the right side of his tunic up to reveal one of the most grievous wounds he’d sustained at Winterfell. “Samwell Tarly fought that night, even though he wasn’t a knight, and then he spent weeks treating the injured on little or no rest. I would not be here today if it were not for him.”

Jorah pulled his tunic back down and replaced his gauntlet. “Samwell Tarly saved yours and your mother’s lives. Very few of us would be alive today were it not for his actions.”

She saw Sam cast his eyes to the ground, a look of shame on his face as her husband continued.

“The measure of a man’s strength is not in the sword he wields, it’s in the courage of his convictions and in how he acts toward his fellow man. Samwell Tarly raised you as his own and has loved you as a father should. He is one of the most courageous men I know.”

“I’m sorry, Ser.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to.”

“I will, Ser. I promise.”

“Then we’ll hear no more about it,” Jorah said, tossing another piece of riding gear to the boy. “You can finish for the day….after you’ve cleaned out Meraxes’ stable.”

Little Sam let out a pained groan as he trudged towards the stables, grumbling under his breath. Cleaning out the stables had always been the task he’d hated the most.

Deciding to make her presence known, Daenerys had walked past her husband with Ser Davos beside her, giving Jorah a knowing smile as his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

——————————

Daenerys knew that the boy had taken Jorah’s words to heart and that Little Sam was keen to be the kind of squire that a knight could be proud of. She saw the look of concern on his face as he looked at his father hopefully.

“I want to help if I can.”

His father had opened his mouth to respond when Daenerys knelt down once more and beckoned the younger Tarly forward.

“There is something you could do and that I know Ser Jorah would appreciate.”

The young boy nodded eagerly. “Anything, Your Grace.”

“I need you to take good care of Meraxes for me. Make sure that he is fed and watered and that you take him for a walk around the paddock each day.”

Daenerys knew how much her husband loved his horse and would tend to the beast personally rather than letting stable boys feed and brush him. The connection between them was quite astounding. She had seen how Jorah melded to the horse as if they were both one when he road the silver stallion through fields and meadows on the odd occasions that they were able to leave King’s Landing for more than a few hours at a time.

Ser Jorah Mormont was a man whose imposing height and size could intimidate those who did not know him well, but beneath the stoic exterior was a man whose sentimentality and affection towards the animals that he came into contact with was well known around the keep. Perhaps it had something to do with his upbringing on Bear Island where undoubtedly man and beast had learned to live alongside each other in order to survive.

Little Sam readjusted his tunic and nodded to Daenerys and then his father. “You have my word that I’ll care of Meraxes, Your Grace,”

“Thank you, Sam. It will not be forgotten.”

The elder Tarly followed Daenerys into her chambers and set his equipment to one side.

“How has Ser Jorah been?” He asked, walking towards the man on the bed.

Daenerys let out a tired sigh. “Restless these past few hours. The sickness has also returned.”

She caught the look of concern on Sam’s face.

“Has he been able to keep anything down?”

She nodded. “Earlier in the night. I managed to get him to drink several goblets of water.”

“That’s good,” Sam said, one hand on the bed facing her. He let out a shriek when he found his wrist being grabbed tightly.

Sam turned and tried desperately to release himself from Jorah’s grip, who seemed unaware of what he was doing.

Daenerys knew how frightening Jorah’s nightmares could be and she had no doubt that he was stuck in the middle of one right now. The only thing that tended to soothe him and bring him back to the present was the sound of her voice.

“Jorah,” she crooned in his ear. “We’re safe, you can let go.” She traced her fingers over one side of his face as his eyes cracked open. “It’s ok.”

“Where?” Jorah croaked, licking his dry lips, his eyes widening as he released his vice-like grip on Sam’s wrist.

“Our quarters,” she said softly, tucking a few damp strands of hair behind his ear. 

Relieved that he had been released from Ser Jorah’s grip, Sam prepared a goblet of water that he’d infused with a remedy that he hoped would stop the knight from vomiting. The more fluids he was losing, the worse his chances of fighting the sickness would be.

“We need to sit him up, Your Grace.”

It took a great deal of effort, but they finally had Jorah propped up against a number of pillows, although his eyes kept drooping shut.

“You need to drink this,” Sam said as he held the goblet toward Jorah. He watched as the knight shook his head.

“I can’t - ”

“You must, you’ve lost too many fluids as it is.”

Daenerys repositioned herself so that she was in his line of sight. “Please, you must try…. For me.”

Jorah took a few hesitant sips and waited for the water to come straight back up again. Satisfied that it had stayed down, Daenerys encouraged him to drink the rest as well.

The knock at the door took both Sam and Daenerys by surprise. Daenerys smiled when she saw Missandei standing in the doorway.

“Come, let me run you a bath, Your Grace.”

Daenerys was torn between staying with her husband and taking a few moments for herself.

“I can’t” she said.

“Ser Jorah will need your strength over the next few days. You cannot help him if you are exhausted yourself.”

She knew that Missandei was right, yet she was reluctant to leave the man she loved, even for a few moments.

“We’ll be fine, Your Grace,” Sam reassured her. “There are some remedies I need to prepare and I can keep an eye on Ser Jorah.”

Still not entirely convinced and yet exhausted from the previous night, Daenerys relented. “Call me if anything changes.”

Sam nodded. “You have my word.”


	7. Memories of Mereen - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei recalls her time in Mereen

Although she worried for her husband, Daenerys couldn’t deny that sinking into the metal tub of hot water felt exquisite.

Missandei had tried to talk her into bathing in a room separate to her quarters, but Daenerys had refused to be any further from Jorah than she needed to be. She could hear Samwell Tarly taking quietly to Jorah and his faint groans and grunts in response to whatever the young maester was doing.

“May I wash you?” Missandei asked as she began sponging Daenerys’ shoulders gently.

Daenerys nodded her ascent and closed her eyes, allowing the feeling of the warm water cascading down her body to soothe her. She let out a long breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“You are worried for him,” Missandei observed.

Daenerys nodded her head once more, willing the tears not to fall from her eyes.

“Ser Jorah is the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace. He will win this battle as he has every other one that has come before.”

“Many people have told me the same, but those words will ring hollow if they turn out to be false,” Daenerys replied sadly.

Missandei could empathise with the pain her queen was feeling. She knew that she would be exactly the same if it were Grey Worm who was in Ser Jorah’s position. She could not bear the thought of her lover being taken away from her.

As much as she felt for Daenerys, Missandei realised that after the Battle of Winterfell that Ser Jorah held a place in heart too. She had been truly saddened to hear that he had been injured so grievously on the battlefield and although her concern for his survival was nothing compared to that of their queen, she had willed him to survive, knowing that the world needed more men like the loyal and devoted knight.

She had been so relieved when Ser Jorah had returned to his queen’s side at Dragonstone after finding a cure for his greyscale. It had seemed to bring a lightness and stability to Daenerys Targaryen that had been missing since she’d sent him away with the command to come back to her side healthy and cured.

She had known all too well the pain that the knight’s banishment had caused her queen and the dark path that she had begun to travel without her most trusted advisor by her side. Missandei didn’t pretend to know the reasons why Ser Jorah had betrayed her all those years ago, but she had mourned for a man she believed to be loyal and true to Daenerys Targaryen and her cause.

It had not been long after she and the Unsullied soldiers had been freed from their slavery when Missandei finally understood what kind of man stood beside her saviour’s side.

Her past experiences of men had been brutal and terrifying and the imposing physicality of Ser Jorah Mormont had made her feel overwhelmed and intimidated. She had done her best to avoid him as much as possible in case he decided to force himself upon her as other men had previously.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she’d immediately panicked and attempted to run from whoever meant her harm. In her haste, she tripped on the hem of her dress and fell to the floor, grazing her arm on the rough stone surface.

Too frightened to lift her head, she heard a gruff yet gentle voice as Ser Jorah Mormont moved towards her. Instinctively, she cowered and readied herself for the blow that she knew would be coming.

“Please,” she sobbed.

She heard his quick intake of breath and noticed that he had frozen in place, the only thing in her line of vision being his dust-covered boots. Moments passed and still he had not moved, either toward her or away.

“My lady, are you ok?”

His voice was soft and full of concern.

“Please… don’t hit me,” she begged, tears running down her face.

She heard the metal clank of his armour as he crouched down toward her, still not closing the distance between them.

“On my honour as a knight, I will never raise a hand to you, my lady.” He held his open palm out and encouraged her to take it. “I will take the head of any man who dares to lay a finger on you. Of that, you have my word,” he continued as he gently helped her to her feet.

She had glanced down to see the items she was carrying had rolled across the floor. The tall knight’s hand stopped her as she bent to collect her belongings.

“Allow me,” he said as he collected them in his arms. “May I walk you to your quarters?”

She’d looked uncertain and worried. Had he only come to her aid to expect a reward for his galant behaviour?

“I only wish to see you back safely, my lady. Your arm needs tending to.”

He’d walked her back to her quarters and she had been surprised to find him standing guard in the corridor when she rose the next morning.

“Were you here all night?” She asked. She could see the clear signs that he had not slept recently as he gave her a tired nod.

“I wanted to ensure that you rested peacefully and safely, my lady.”

“Thank you, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

He shook his head. “You will never have to fear for your safety while you are here. You have my word.”

She had watched him walk back down the corridor and out of sight, feeling safe for the first time in many years.

——————————

Missandei heard Daenerys let out another sigh of contentment as she began braiding her hair as her queen sat quietly. The scene was oddly reminiscent of the day Daenerys had married Ser Jorah in the great sept of King’s Landing.

She had seen Ser Jorah earlier that day as Ser Davos Seaworth, Samwell Tarly and Tyrion Lannister tried to quell the bear knight’s growing nerves. It had been the first time that she had ever seen the brave knight look scared. This man had faced down horrors that no mortal should ever have had to, and yet he stood in Ser Davos’ chambers, trembling like a newborn colt.

“For fuck’s sake, Mormont,” Ser Davos muttered, “Breathe before you fucking pass out on us!”

Ser Jorah had shot his fellow knight a look, his face looked stricken.

“She’ll have changed her mind,” he fretted. “I’ve never been good enough for her.”

It broke her heart to hear such a brave man feel so unworthy of the woman he loved. She should have stayed silent in the doorway, but she would not allow Ser Jorah to torture himself any more than he already had. His history with Daenerys Targaryen had been complex, but any fool could see that they shared a love that few could equal.

She’d approached him and straightened his tunic before kissing him on the cheek.

“You have nothing to fear, brave Ser,” she told him as she stepped back and smiled at him. “Queen Daenerys has no plans to change her mind, of that I am certain.”

He hadn’t looked convinced. “She should be marrying a man more worthy than I.”

“There is no one more worthy than you, Ser,” she told him gently. “I have followed our queen for many years, no one has loved her more than you. Our queen has been through so many hardships and deserves to be happy… you make her happy, Ser. I have never seen her so content and it is you alone who is responsible for that.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Missandei - “

She cut him off quickly. “You are unsure, Ser, but everyone in this room is certain that you are the only man worthy of the love of our queen.”

“But other lords - “

“Can fuck off,” she shot back quickly, even surprising herself.

Jorah had shot Tyrion a look. “You’ve spent far too much time with him,” he muttered as he glared at the smaller man.

She smiled demurely. “I must return to the queen’s quarters, she is just as anxious as you, Ser, so do not leave her waiting too long.”

She’d left the room, the sounds of the men slowly dying out as she made her way back to her queen to finish braiding her hair.

——————————————

“You have been quiet, Missandei,” Daenerys observed, bringing her back to the present with a jolt.

“I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“Please, don’t apologise. Does something trouble you?”

She knew that her queen had more important things on her mind right now. The news she had could wait until Ser Jorah had recovered.

Daenerys turned her head to look at her. “Please tell me, Missandei.”

She saw the pleading look in her friend’s eyes. Perhaps this news would help ease the queen’s mind.

“Grey Worm has asked me to marry him,” she said quietly, not altogether sure of the reaction the news might get.

Daenerys’ face broke out into a huge grin as she clapped her hands happily. “How exciting! Have you thought of a date yet?”

To be honest, they hadn’t thought much about it yet. There always seemed to be something to do, some issue in the keep to deal with, and they had hardly had a chance to discuss anything about the ceremony.

“Not yet,” she replied. “We wanted to ask your blessing before we decided on anything.”

“You have it,” Daenerys beamed at her before looking at her seriously, “but only if you allow me to give your hand to Grey Worm at the ceremony.”

She was stunned. A ruling monarch should not lower themselves to be involved in such things. She and Grey Worm were slaves, their place was far below that of their queen. The tradition of giving a lady’s hand was meant for family only.

Daenerys had picked up on her hesitance almost immediately. “You are family to me, Missandei. I would be honoured if you would allow me to do this for you.”

“I am the one who is honoured, Your Grace.”

Daenerys patted her hand. “Then it is settled.”

The moment between the two women was broken by a loud crashing noise coming from the next room and the sound of a low voice that was unmistakably that of Ser Jorah Mormont.


	8. Memories of Mereen - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were many memories of Mereen, some less pleasant than others.

Rushing into the room, Daenerys gasped as she saw Samwell Tarly struggling to restrain her husband as he growled and pushed at the hands trying to lower him back toward the pillows.

“Get off, I have to go!” Jorah yelled as he threw an arm at Sam. "They're here, I have to get to her!"

“What is going on?” She asked as Missandei stood behind her.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, still struggling with a man who was far stronger than he was.

“His fever is too high…he’s delirious. We need to bring it down before…”

She didn’t want to ask, yet she knew that she had to. “Before what?”

Daenerys felt her heart pound painfully in her chest as she watched her husband lose his battle with consciousness as he collapsed onto the pillows, his breath still coming in painful gasps.

“If we don’t bring his fever down, it could damage his heart…or his mind.”

Daenerys knew all too well that a fever could kill a man if left to fester out of control. She had seen it happen to Drogo. She could not go through that again. The thought of Jorah lying on the ground, his eyes open and yet vacant…. She knew that she would not have the strength to end Jorah’s suffering as she had done Drogo’s.

“What should we do?”

Sam glanced at her nervously, taking a deep breath. “There is something we could try, but it may be dangerous, Your Grace. The shock alone might cause his heart to give out.”

“And if we do nothing?”

Sam gulped, not wanting to look his queen in the eyes. He knew what he would find there when he answered her. “The fever is already too high. He will not last the day.”

It was unthinkable that her brave, stubborn husband would die of something so benign as a fever. Would the gods be so cruel as to rip her happiness away so soon after granting her heart’s desire?

“What do you need?” She asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Two strong men that you can trust. Ser Jorah is not going to like what we need to do.”

Daenerys turned to Missandei. “Find Ser Davos and Grey Worm and bring them here immediately.”

“We’ll also need as many pails of water as you can find. Make sure it’s as cold as possible.”

Missandei returned a short time later with the men and water as requested. 

She heard Ser Davos mutter “Fuck me” behind her.

The two men dragged the metal bath tub into the sleeping area as instructed as Sam and Daenerys stripped the unconscious man. They lay him in the tub between the four of them as Ser Jorah muttered, his eyes rolling in his head as sweat poured from his brow. He was painfully hot to the touch.

Sam looked at the two men. “Get on either side of him and make sure you hold him down. Whatever you do, don’t let him get up.”

The two men nodded. 

“What are you going to do with that?” Ser Davos asked, watching Sam bring over a pail of water.

“Something that Ser Jorah will not enjoy,” he replied as he poured in the first of the cold water of the unconscious man’s chest. It was enough to bring Jorah awake with a start.

“No!” Ser Jorah screamed as he twisted and writhed, trying to free himself from the hands holding him down. His back arching as he howled in pain.

Undeterred, Sam continued to pour cold water over him, trying to drown out the sound of the man’s anguished cries.

He knew that the shock of the cold water against Ser Jorah’s body would feel like a thousand knives being stabbed into his flesh. The stoic knight had sat through having his skin flayed off and had barely uttered a sound. The man was in agony judging by the sounds of his screaming.

Still writhing, Jorah gasped and opened his eyes. Daenerys felt her husband’s gaze fall on her.

“Please, Khaleesi!” He begged, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

She watched, paralysed by fear as the man she loved begged for mercy. “I will never do you wrong again, I swear. I only wanted to go home! Please Daenerys, make them stop. Please!”

She realised that her husband was relieving the fateful day in Mereen when she had banished him for the second time, except that this time she had tortured him instead of exiling him. She let out a sob and had almost begged Sam to stop the treatment and end his suffering. She only hoped that Jorah wouldn’t remember this when the fever broke.

“Daenerys, please! I love you, I would never harm you. Please, I’m sorry…argh!....Make them stop!”

He had began thrashing so hard that Ser Davos and Grey Worm were struggling to keep their grip on him and Daenerys could see cuts on her husband’s arms as he’d tried to get away from the torture they were inflicting upon him.

After what seemed like hours, Ser Jorah stopped thrashing and collapsed into the tub, unmoving. Ser Davos had begun loosening his grip when Sam shouted.

“No, keep hold of him!”

The maester knew what would come next as Ser Jorah let out a loud gasp, his back arching as his body lifted almost out of the water. He began convulsing violently, his eyes rolling as his limbs jerked and flailed.

“Sam?” Daenerys asked nervously. “What is happening?”

Sam answered without looking at her. “It’s the shock of the water. It was always a risk that this would happen.”

They could do nothing except watch as Ser Jorah gradually stopped jerking and lay still in the tub. Sam checked his pulse and nodded to the two men to get the unconscious man dried and back to the bed. Ser Jorah remained motionless and limp the whole time.

Sam laid a hand on Jorah’s forehead once he had been situated back in the bed and checked the man’s breathing and pulse once more. He nodded to himself, seeming satisfied that the treatment had worked.

“He feels cooler already and his heart rate has started coming down,” Sam told them.

“The worst is over?” Daenerys asked.

“We’ll know in the next twelve hours or so. As long as his fever doesn’t climb again, I believe that he will be ok.”

Daenerys turned to Ser Davos and Grey Worm. “You may go, but please do not speak of this to anyone.

“Aye, Your Grace,” Ser Davos nodded, motioning that Missandei should leave with them.

“The convulsions….will they have harmed him?” Daenerys asked as she stroked her husband’s arm, relieved to find it cooler than it had been in days.

“I hope not,” Sam answered honestly. “We won’t be able to tell until he wakes properly.”

“When might that be?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. It could be hours or it could be days….or - “

“He may not wake at all,” she finished for him. She couldn’t lose Jorah the same way she had lost Drogo.

“He’s survived much worse than this, Your Grace. We have to hope that he will survive this too. Let us get through the next twelve hours and we’ll have a better idea of what to expect next.”

She could see how tired Sam looked even though it was still only midday.

“You may rest, Sam. There is nothing more to be done for now.”

“I can stay with him,” he offered.

She shook her head. “I will call for you if he worsens, but for now I wish to be alone with my husband. If the fever returns and he has only hours, then I wish to spend those hours alone with him. I will not leave his side.”

It took her by surprise when Sam leant over and squeezed Jorah’s shoulder almost painfully. “Don’t you dare give up on us, you stubborn bastard. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

It had been the most forthright she had ever seen Samwell Tarly and spoke volumes as to the relationship between the two men who had only met a few short years earlier and under such grievous circumstances. That night at the Citadel had forged a strong bond between them.

It was clear that her husband respected the young maester highly when he’d attempted to return Heartsbane to Sam after his recovery at Winterfell. The young man had outright refused to take it back.

“It is much better used by someone who is strong enough to wield it,” Sam had told him.

“It is your family’s sword,” Ser Jorah protested. “It should pass to your son.”

“No, it should pass to yours,” Sam argued.

“I don’t think that likely. That time has passed.”

Sam finally relented, knowing that the knight would not waver. “I will only take the sword back if you have no heirs to pass it on to, Ser Jorah, and only upon your death when you’re an old man many years from now. That is my offer, take it or leave it.”

Ser Jorah had given him a rueful smile as he stroked his bearded chin. “You strike a hard bargain, Tarly, but I agree to your terms.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“It’s settled,” Ser Jorah agreed. “As long as we drink to it.”

The two men had shaken hands and sealed the deal with a flagon of ale each as she had watched on, smiling warmly at her brave and stubborn bear. 

How could he not be aware of the effect he had on those around him?

Samwell Tarly had grown in confidence and stature since then and it was obvious that her husband had instilled some of that in the young man. Jorah did not trust others easily and yet once he did, he was loyal to a fault, even if that loyalty ended up costing him personally. It was both his biggest weakness and his greatest strength. Jorah would do anything for those he considered family and she had seen firsthand the paternal bond between the two men growing as the years had passed.

“You may go, Sam,” Daenerys told him once more. The tone of her voice making it clear that she would not tell him a third time.

“Send for me if anything changes,” he said as he backed out of the room, hoping that Heartsbane would not be returned to him on the morrow.


	9. An Imp, A Bear, A Maester and a Smuggler Enter An Alehouse...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion is in charge of the pre-wedding celebrations, much to Jorah's dismay.

“It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

See Davos sent Tyrion a withering look as he shook his head and poured himself another goblet of wine. Tyrion of all people should be the last to criticise a man for drinking.

“It’s barely midday and you’re drinking that wine like it’s water,” Tyrion observed as he poured himself a healthy measure. “It was good of the Prince to leave a cask of his best Dornish red before he left.”

“They’ve left?’ Davos asked, taking another gulp of his wine.

“They set out first thing this morning.”

“And the trade deal?”

Davos realised that he’d completely forgotten about the Dornish dignitaries until now.

“Is all agreed,” Tyrion replied with a smug grin. “I entertained our guests while our queen was unavailable and I think the Prince had a most enjoyable time.”

Davos groaned and shook his head. “Do I want to ask how you entertained them?”

“It would seem that the Prince of Dorne worships the same gods that I do. The god of tits and wine.” Tyrion raised his own goblet with a flourish.

“For fuck’s sake, you took him to a brothel?”

Davos couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He should have known better than to leave Tyrion Lannister unattended, especially when alcohol was involved.

Tyrion looked affronted at the remark. “No,” he said, lengthening the word as if he were talking to a child. “I had the brothel come to us. Five of the finest ladies that King’s Landing has to offer.”

Davos realised that he shouldn’t have expected any different from Tyrion. The man was a notorious womaniser and once alcohol was involved, things often went downhill quickly.

A case in point had been the time Tyrion had arranged the pre-wedding entertainment for Ser Jorah Mormont’s marriage to Queen Daenerys Targaryen. While Missandei and the queen’s handmaidens had arranged a celebration for her, it had been left to Ser Davos, Tyrion Lannister and Samwell Tarly to do the same for the gruff northern knight.

Ser Jorah’s face had been a picture as he left the throne room after pleading his case with his soon to be wife.

“Khaleesi, I don’t need any kind of celebration. Marrying you is celebration enough.”

She’d given him a knowing grin. “I shall be with my ladies, Ser. You will have to make your own entertainment for the night.”

“I’m quite happy to spend the night alone,” he’d begun to sound desperate.

“And disappoint your friends?” She said, glancing at Tyrion Lannister.

“Tyrion Lannister is _not_ my friend, Khaleesi,” he argued, glaring at the small man.

“Tyrion has spent weeks planning your evening. It would be such a shame for that all to be for naught. I would be disappointed if that were the case.”

Davos had winced at that, knowing that the queen had played her trump card. No matter how much it might hurt him, Jorah would do anything to make Daenerys Targaryen happy.

Jorah’s head had dropped as he realised that this would be an argument he would not win with his lover.

“As you command, Khaleesi.”

“I command you to relax and enjoy yourself.”

Jorah shook his head. “Not when Tyrion Lannister is involved,” he’d huffed.

The three of them had dragged Jorah to several alehouses and despite Tyrion’s best intentions, the tall knight had refused to drink at the same pace as him.

“It’s a wonder you ever got up the queen’s skirt if this is how adventurous you are,” Tyrion observed after several hiccups.

It had taken Davos’ quick reactions to steady the arm that he knew Ser Jorah would throw in the imp’s face.

“Oh lighten up, Mormont, for fuck’s sake.”

“Perhaps I should get us another round of drinks,” Samwell Tarly had suggested, he’d been fidgeting nervously at the exchange between the two men.

“Wait,” Ser Jorah said, his hand on the other man’s arm. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Sam.”

The young maester had sat down, gulping noisily.

It was then Jorah’s turn to look nervous as he scratched his beard for a number of moments.

“Spit it out, Mormont,” Tyrion snorted. “Before _you_ die of old age.”

“Sam,” Mormont began after clearing his throat. “It’s tradition for a man to have someone standing by his side during the ceremony….. I was hoping….” He trailed off.

Sam had looked at him nonplussed.

“He’s asking you to stand with him, Tarly,” Tyrion had finished with a wry smile as Jorah shot him a look. “Was that not what you were asking him?”

“Aye,” Jorah huffed. “Would you do me the honour, Samwell Tarly?”

The young maester looked shellshocked. “Why me?”

“Because Mormont is going to need a maester when he passes out in the sept. As soon as he sets eyes on our queen in her dress there won’t be enough blood for both his mind and his cock.”

The comment had caused Davos to choke on his ale noisily.

Tyrion had appeared unfazed. “It’s well known that Mormont’s have massive cocks. The womenfolk especially.” He smirked at Jorah with a glint in his eye.

“And you’d know this how?” Davos asked before he could stop himself. Perhaps the ale was getting to them all.

“He and I were slaves in Mereen. There’s very little of a man you don’t see when you’re chained together.” Tyrion drained the last of his ale and belched before demanding more from the innkeeper. “I dare say the size of his cock is half the appeal for our dear queen.”

Davos could see that his fellow knight was seething and had been ready to launch himself at the smaller man. He had no doubt that Jorah Mormont would have happily beat Tyrion bloody right there in the alehouse.

Tyrion had stumbled to his feet, smiling at his companions. “I’m going for a piss.”

“I know you want to kill him, but I don’t think our queen would be too pleased to hear that she’s got to find herself another Hand.” Davos said, drinking from a fresh tankard of ale.

Ser Jorah had grumbled something under his breath, undoubtedly something he wouldn’t repeat in front of his wife to be.

“Hopefully Tyrion will pass out before long at the rate he’s drinking. We can leave him behind and go somewhere else,” Sam suggested hopefully. The young maester left a lot to be desired when it came to his ability to hold his drink.

They had not been so fortunate as it had turned out. For a small man, Tyrion Lannister was able to hold a vast amount of alcohol and it had been on their walk to the last alehouse of the night that Davos had overheard the conversation between Jorah and Sam.

“I’m honoured, Ser Jorah,” Samwell had said, “but why choose me to stand with you at the ceremony?”

“Family is important, don’t you think?” Jorah responded.

“Of course.”

“I brought shame to my family many years ago. I lost my right to have anyone to call family and it was no more than I deserved.”

“Your father, the Lord Commander - ”

“Was ashamed of me,” Jorah interrupted. “I dishonoured him and everything House Mormont stood for. I can never ask for his forgiveness.”

“There’s something you should know, Ser Jorah. I was there when your father - “

“Was murdered by his own men,” Jorah said bitterly.

“Before he died…he wanted you to know that he forgave you and that you would always be his son. He never stopped loving you or caring about you.”

The revelation had hit the stoic knight like a brick in the face and had only been Davos’ quick reactions that had kept him from stumbling to the ground. Even Tyrion had the good grace to say nothing until the sound of him retching broke the moment between them.

————————

“How is the sour old bear?”

Tyrion’s voice brought him back to the present instantly and Davos was sure he could hear a hint of concern in the other man’s voice. Despite all of their protestations to the contrary, both Tyrion and Ser Jorah had a grudging respect for one another. Their shared history had brought them together and forged a relationship between them, albeit a rather dysfunctional one.

Davos took another long drag of his wine before shooting the other man a look that spoke volumes.

“That bad?” Tyrion asked.

He nodded his head and took another gulp of wine.

“And how is the queen?”

“Ask me that again on the morrow and I might have a better answer for you.”

“Mormont is too stubborn a bastard to die,” Tyrion said, although it was clear that even he was now beginning to worry for the man and what affect that would have on their queen. “He’s like a cockroach. It doesn’t matter how many times you stamp on it, the fucker just won’t die.”

“Aye, well let’s hope you’re right,” Davos said as he stood, straightened his tunic and left the room.


	10. The Reason We Love Him

It chilled Daenerys to the core that her husband had yet to move a muscle since he’d been returned to the bed. He lay deathly still, covered by the thin bedsheet. The only sound he made was that of his steady breathing. 

At least it wasn’t the rasping, pained gasps of before, but he was far too still for her liking.

It had always warmed her heart to see Jorah constantly in motion. Perhaps it had something to do with his years in exile, when his life was constantly moving from one city to the next, but he seemed to find it impossible to sit still for any length of time.

Whether it was resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, or scratching his beard. Jorah was always doing something, moving some area of his body, always in a state of perpetual motion.

She glanced down at his hands and saw the cuts and bruises sustained earlier in the day as he thrashed helplessly in the metal tub when Ser Davos and Grey Worm had held him down. Sam had covered his arms in clean cloth, but the marks were still visible all over Jorah’s body.

Daenerys had always found her husband’s hands to be one of his finest attributes. Not only was he a skilled fighter and swordsman, he knew exactly what to do and where to place his hands when it came to her body.

She had longed for his hands to touch her on her wedding day and had been frustrated at having to sit through a feast after the ceremony had finished. While the wedding itself was beautiful, she had wanted nothing more than to get to the traditional ‘bedding’ part of the day.

The feast seemed to have gone on forever and she had groaned when Tyrion began giving a speech about the pair of them.

“Good folk of Westeros,” he’d begun before taking a sip of wine. “We’re here to celebrate the fact that Ser Jorah Mormont has finally found someone who’ll look past his complete lack of personality and agree to marry him.”

A quiet chorus of chuckles went round the room as Jorah glared at him.

“Only the gods know why, but our queen has decided to marry the grumpy old bastard…”

The rest of his speech had been drowned out when Daenerys caught a glimpse of her husband spinning his cutlery absent-mindedly, no doubt trying hard to remain seated while Tyrion continued his diatribe. She had found the movement of his hand mesmerising and highly erotic.

She needed his hands on her now.

“Jorah,” she whispered in his ear.

“Hmmm?”

“Lets get out of here,” she suggested, placing a hand on his thigh.

He turned to her and gave her a lopsided grin, the ale having an effect on him. “I think the lords and ladies might be disappointed if we do.”

She didn’t care for politics right now, all she could think about was Jorah’s hands and lips all over her body.

“Surely as queen I can do as I please?”

It wasn’t often that she played on the fact, but she had an aching need that only her husband could satisfy.

She cocked an eyebrow suggestively at him and he’d almost agreed when musicians began playing. The crowd chanting for the new couple to have the first dance.

Jorah looked horrified at the prospect. “Khaleesi, I am not a good dancer.”

“Neither am I, Ser. Maybe if we get this dance out of the way…we can then leave our guests to their merriment.”

He hadn’t looked convinced when she’d dragged him from the table as the music continued to play.

“Just put your arms around me and sway,” she instructed him.

“It’s about all I’m capable of.”

He was a better dancer than he’d given himself credit for and Daenerys had found herself getting lost in his eyes as they swayed to the music. With her arms around his neck and his on her lower back, Jorah lowered his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She had responded by kissing him deeply, so much so that a few cheers went up as others began joining the dancing area.

Jorah pulled her hips to his seductively. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to take you right here in the hall.”

The comment had taken her by surprise. “Jorah, we’d get caught.”

He looked over his shoulder at the crowd of people joining them in swaying to the music. “I don’t think they’d notice.”

“Oh trust me, they’d notice.”

When they made love, she was anything but quiet, especially because Jorah knew just what to do to turn her on and send her over the edge into blissful oblivion.

“Let us leave the party. I have need of your expert hands, Ser.”

———————————

Daenerys could feel tears welling in her eyes as she looked Jorah’s hands that were now so still as they lay on top of the bedsheet. From the pallor of his skin to the lacklustre colour of his hair, everything was not as it should be. He did not look like the vibrant and strong man that she knew him to be.

She had watched him for hours and had barely registered that Missandei had brought a plate of food for her, even though she had left strict instructions not to be disturbed.

She picked at the food aimlessly and felt anything but hungry. She was too consumed with fear and anxiety for her husband. She consoled herself with the fact that, so far, the fever had not returned and neither had the vomiting that had ailed him so badly the day before.

After eating as much as she could stomach, she sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand through her husband’s hair, hoping for some response. When none came, she ran her hands across his face and chest, knowing that they had always been areas guaranteed to wake him from any slumber.

Many times, she had come to bed late after an over-running small council meeting to find Jorah already in bed and dozing. She would undress and climb in beside him, running her hands over his chest and face, her hands spelling out what her mouth would not. He would always respond by rolling over and giving her just what she needed without her having to ask.

She knew every area of his body, just as he knew hers, and knew the areas to touch or kiss him that would wake the animal in him. From the area just below his ear, to the dip below his throat, one kiss was enough to send him crazy with desire for her and his hands would be all over her, responding in kind to her erotic ministrations.

Placing a kiss under his ear elicited no response and so she placed a tender kiss on his lips - it had always worked in the fables that she’d been told as a child.

Nothing she did seemed to work. It was as if the man she loved was made of stone and only the steady rise and fall of his chest convinced her that he was still alive.

——————————

She realised that hours must have passed as a knock at the door brought her awake quickly. She glanced down to see that Jorah had not moved at all during the night.

“Come in,” Daenerys said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Samwell Tarly stood in the doorway. “You didn’t call for me last night, Your Grace.” The young maester’s face suddenly fell. “He’s not….he hasn’t?’

She shook her head, exhaustion hitting her suddenly.

Sam let out a relieved breath as he made his way to the bed, placing a hand on Jorah’s forehead before picking his wrist up and placing his fingers on it.

“The fever hasn’t returned?” Sam asked.

She shook her head.

“And the vomiting?”

She shook her head again.

“That’s good,” he said as he smiled at her. “His heart rate is a little slow, but that’s not to be unexpected.”

She looked at the maester with concern. “He’s not moved a muscle or made a sound since…”

Her voice trailed off, not wishing to recall the events of yesterday.

It surprised her that Sam didn’t seem concerned about it.

“His body has been through a great deal in the past few days, Your Grace,” he began as he scribbled something on a piece of parchment. “The body tends to shut down while it tries to recover and regain its strength. Only the most basic systems still function….a bit like hibernation, I suppose.”

“Like a bear?”

Sam let out a small laugh, there had been little levity in this room the past few days. “Exactly, but let’s hope Ser Jorah won’t make us wait until spring to wake up again.”

“You truly think he will be ok?”

Sam nodded eagerly. “He’ll wake up when his body is ready. That might take a few days and when he does, he’s going to want to get out of that bed straight away, but he’ll be weak and unsteady. He’s going to need help for the first few days and you know how stubborn he is.”

Sam’s face suddenly fell as he realised who he was talking to. He opened his mouth to apologise when she held up a hand to stop him.

“You only speak the truth, Sam. He is impossible when he’s set his mind to something.”

“Part of the reason we love him, I suppose.”

It was likely that Sam had not been intending to say such a thing. The two men clearly had a strong bond and Daenerys knew that Jorah had always treated Sam like a son or a younger brother. It was heartening to know that Sam felt the same way about him.

“How long will he need to stay in bed?”

“The longer the better, but failing that at least 2 or 3 days... if you can get him to stay still. If he catches another fever or sickness while he’s weakened, it could be fatal.”

Watching him go through this had been bad enough. She would chain him to the bed if she had to.

“Thank you, Sam. For everything.”

Sam nodded and smiled at her as he collected his things and left the room.

“He loves you too, you know,” she called over her shoulder as she heard the door click softly behind her.


	11. A Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse!Dany, Nurse!Dany
> 
> Paging Nurse!Dany....

Heartened by Sam’s words, Daenerys had been content to deal with any matters of the realm from the comfort of their quarters.

Sam had come by during the mornings and evenings to check on his patient and continued to give her encouraging sounds when it came to Jorah’s recovery.

Missandei had arrived several times to help her bathe and braid her hair, although Daenerys had been resolute that she would not leave her quarters under any circumstances. She was adamant that she would be present when her husband finally woke up.

Three days had passed and doubts had started to creep into her mind once more. She feared that Jorah would never wake up and take her in his arms again.

Tyrion had dropped by that morning to hand over the latest accounts for King’s Landing and even he had appeared slightly solemn at the continued absence of his favourite adversary. The sympathetic look he’d given her almost brought Daenerys to tears again.

She could have left them for another few days, but she decided that poring over columns of financial information might help take her mind off her husband.

She had been so engrossed in the papers that she’d failed to see the small twitches of her husband’s hands or the fluttering of his eyelids. It was only when she heard a crashing noise followed by a growl that she realised Jorah was awake.

Papers forgotten, she rushed to his side. “Jorah!”

He looked at her with eyes still heavy with sleep. His hair was unkempt and his beard was longer than she could ever remember seeing it. His lips were dry and cracked, yet he looked like the most beautiful vision she had ever laid eyes on.

“Wha - “ he attempted to say before, breaking into a hacking cough.

Picking up the fallen goblet, Daenerys refilled it with water and handed it to him, ignoring his frown when she helped him guide it to his mouth. Several days of unconsciousness had left him extremely weak.

He took several large gulps of water. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head.

“You’ve been very sick. Ser Davos found you out by the stables several days ago.”

“Several days ago?” He asked incredulously.

She nodded her head. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jorah lifted a shaky hand to his beard and thought for a moment. “There was a meal for the Prince of Dorne….”

“One that you left rather abruptly, Ser.”

“Khaleesi, I’m sorry - “

“Do you really think I care about that?” She cut him off. “I almost lost you!”

He reached out a hand to her. “I will never leave you, Khaleesi.”

She looked away. “That is a promise that you cannot guarantee you can keep.”

Taking a deep breath, Jorah tried to summon the strength to remove the bedsheet and take her in his arms.

“What are you doing?” She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back toward the pillows with little effort.

“I’ve been abed too long, I need to get up.”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

“Khaleesi - “

“It is not up for discussion. You are to remain abed for several days on the orders of Samwell Tarly.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “I haven’t…he hasn’t…” he stammered.

She placed a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We needed his expertise as a maester. You were so sick, Jorah. It is only I who has attended to you.”

“You have more important things to do than nursemaid me. I am of little importance - “

“Do you truly believe that, Ser?”

“You are a queen - “

“And I am also your wife,” she shot back.

“Still, you shouldn’t lower yourself to such things.”

She slammed the now empty goblet back on to the bedside table. “I shall put your comments down to the fact that you are still dazed from your fever. Any other woman would be hurt by the things you’ve said.”

He looked at her in confusion.

“Would you not take care of me if I were the one in need?”

“You know I would. You never need to ask.”

“Then why should I not take care of you?”

A let out a tired sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “Because you are a queen and I am nothing more than a shamed, exiled knight. Your people would think it unbecoming that you would tend to me personally.”

“You care what people think?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

She could feel the frustration rising within her. “Then what do you mean, because I am struggling to understand.”

He closed his eyes and Daenerys could see tears in them when he opened them again. “I do not wish for you to see me weak. I’m already far older than you, I do not want you to see me as a burden.”

She grabbed him roughly by the face and kissed him with all the passion she could muster, letting loose the fear and anxiety that had gripped her for days.

“As many people have told me repeatedly, you are the strongest, most stubborn man in all of Westeros. You are my strength, you always have been. Now you must let me be yours.”

She rested her forehead against his.

“Forgive me, Khaleesi. I do not seem to be at my best at the moment.”

She kissed him more tenderly this time. “Sam said the weakness is only temporary. You will regain your strength…if you allow me to take care of you.”

“Queens do not take care of consorts - “

“When we are in our quarters, we are not consort and queen, we are Jorah and Daenerys, husband and wife. I could not care less for the realm once our door is closed, my whole world is here in this room. With you.”

—————————

Daenerys had been fortunate that her husband was still too weak and drowsy to fight her on making another attempt to leave the bed he’d been confined to for days. That still left the awkward issue of helping him to eat and drink.

Several hours after he’d first woken, Daenerys shook his shoulder and helped him to sit up in their bed. Sam had come by earlier and checked Jorah over, satisfied that he was recovering and reaffirming that the older man would feel considerably weakened for a number of days yet. She held a steaming bowl of stew and a spoon in her hand. She had only dipped the spoon in the bowl when Jorah began shaking his head.

“I can do it myself,” he told her stubbornly.

She looked at him, her expression dubious. Placing the bowl in his lap, she watched his hand shake violently as he attempted to bring the food to his lips. His hand had trembled so badly that most of it had ended up on his chest and the bedsheet.

“Are you finished trying to prove your masculinity, Ser?”

He’d stared at her, his expression one of shame.

“You would not have done this for Daario,” he said sullenly.

His words cut her deeply. She thrust the bowl back on the table angrily.

“Because I did not love him, Jorah. This not about other men, this is about your ego.”

“I have my pride, Khaleesi.”

“And you would let your stupid pride hurt the woman you love?”

He recoiled in shock. “I would never hurt you, Khalessi. Never.”

“But you are, Jorah. You keep pushing me away when I only want to help you.”

He gave her a wry smile as he scratched his beard. “Forgive me, this is not something that I am used to. I have spent so long with no one to care for, I’m a little rusty on the give and take in a relationship.”

“All I have ever done is take from you, Jorah. Now it is my turn to give to you.” She paused momentarily as her voice began to break. “Please do not push me away.”

He looked at her lovingly. “We are quite the pair it would seem,” he chuckled.

She smiled at his words, picking the bowl up once more, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“If you do not allow me to help you eat, I will chain you to this bed and have Tyrion keep you company.”

His mouth had dropped open at that. She wasted no time thrusting the spoon in, smiling as he chewed the food and grumbled something under his breath.

Once she had started, she found the process of feeding her husband faintly erotic. The way he maintained eye contact with her as she spooned food into his mouth caused a pleasant twinging to certain areas of her body…

Jorah was in no fit state to engage in any strenuous activities. He would need all the strength he could muster just to be able to leave the confines of his sick bed, although it seemed that he had finally relented in letting her take care of him for now.

That night, she was content to just be held in his arms as he quickly drifted back off to sleep again. This time, she was much more assured that he would recover and return to her side once more.


	12. A Close Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of baths, beards, bears, and....

Daenerys woke slowly, relieved to find herself in her husband’s comforting embrace. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and watched contentedly as he continued to sleep.

Unconsciousness had claimed her as soon as her head had hit the pillow and she’d slept soundly, her body craving the rest she’d forgone the last several days as she watched over the man she loved.

She extricated herself from his embrace, smiling as his eyebrows twitched and a sigh escaped his lips. 

Moving to the door, she spoke to the Unsullied solider to send for Missandei.

Her confidant and advisor arrived several minutes later.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Are you well?”

Daenerys gave her a tired smile. “I am much better now that Ser Jorah is awake, although I am finding it difficult to keep him abed.”

Missandei gave her a knowing look, aware that Grey Worm had been the same after the Sons of the Harpy had attacked he and Ser Barristan in Mereen.

“He will want to be back at your side as quickly as possible. It is the only place that he is content to be.”

“Would you be so kind as to send for some hot water and run a bath for me?”

Missandei nodded and instructed the solider to do so. “Would you like me to braid your hair while you bathe?”

Daenerys smiled and shook her head. “The water is not for me.”

Several minutes later, Daenerys found herself standing in front of a tub of steaming water, wondering how she would move her much larger husband from the bed.

She gently shook his shoulder to rouse him, kissing his lips when she got no response. She saw his face break into a smile as his eyes remained closed.

“Do you not want to see me, Ser?” She asked playfully, fully aware of what he was doing.

He cracked one eye open. “I was rather hoping that if I kept my eyes closed you would continue.”

“Perhaps later,” she said as she moved the bedsheet away from his body. “I am freeing you from this bed.”

The mixture of hope and shock that crossed his face caused her to laugh. His face fell when he realised that there must be some sort of catch.

“You said several days, Khaleesi.” His tone was wary.

“I thought you might enjoy a bath,” she suggested.

He laughed. “Aye, I smell like sewage. A bath would be welcome right now.”

The thought of escaping the confines of his sick bed seemed to lighten his mood as he hardly grumbled when she helped him to his feet and walked him to the ante room that held the bath tub. His limbs shook as he walked the few steps and climbed in, letting out a sigh of contentment as he sunk into the steaming water.

A momentary flash of memory hit her as she recalled the last time her husband had been in this tub. It had not been a pleasant experience for either of them. 

He knew her too well and instantly picked up on her discomfort.

“Khaleesi, what is it?”

“It’s nothing.” He didn’t look convinced. 

She slipped off her robe as she walked toward him. “Would you allow me to join you?”

He nodded eagerly as she sat herself opposite him, reaching for the soft material beside the tub and squeezing it over his body. She was relieved when he didn’t stop her and instead closed his eyes and let his body relax.

Then she moved on to his hair, washing it through before pushing it back off his forehead. He let out another sigh and she silently hoped he might fall asleep before she tackled the next part - his beard.

As soon as she began to wet his cheeks, his eyes sprung open. “What are you doing?”

She could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“As much as I like your beard, it has grown much too long.”

He sat up straighter in the tub. “I can do it myself,” he replied, though she could see his hand tremble as he held it out to take the blade.

She tutted at him. “You’re likely to slit your own throat if you try.”

She moved toward him again as he tensed. 

“Do you not trust me, Jorah?” She was beginning to get frustrated at his belligerence when it came to accepting her help.

His cheeks flamed. “It’s…uh….it’s not you I don’t trust.”

She looked at him in confusion. Then it dawned on her how close she would need to be to do a thorough job. 

She would need to be in his lap.

She smiled wickedly. “I see…do you think I cannot contain my womanly desires for a few moments?”

“Forgive me, Khaleesi. It’s not your restraint I’m worried about.”

Intent on her choice, she straddled his lap before he could protest further and placed the blade on the side of his neck.

“It would be in your interests to hold still, Ser.”

He groaned deeply. “I’m not sure I can,” he replied in a whisper, already feeling his manhood respond to her ministrations.

It had been almost fun to watch him struggle to keep his most basic urges in check and had he still not been so weak and she had not been so intent on her task, she might have stopped halfway through and had her way with him right there in the tub.

She repositioned herself so that she could get a better look at her handiwork as he ran a hand over his now much shorter beard.

“You have a talent for this, Khaleesi,” he said, smiling at the woman in his lap.

“Perhaps we should do this more often,” she suggested as she turned her back to him and lent into his broad chest. She felt his arms around her waist.

“Aye, perhaps we should.”

Daenerys felt her eyes begin to droop as she relaxed into the strong embrace of the man she loved.

“Promise me you will never scare me like that again, Jorah. You need to take better care of yourself. You cannot run around the keep at all hours pleasing everyone.”

He sighed. “Sam told you?”

She nodded but remained silent for a number of moments. She needed him to know how he important he was to her.

“I need you now more than ever.”

He tightened his grip on her.

“I will never leave you. You are the only thing in the world that matters to me.”

“That may change soon,” she said mysteriously.

She felt him tense. “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t see the smile on her face as she placed his open palms on her abdomen.

He gasped in shock. “Are you with child?”

She nodded, feeling tears of relief cascading down her cheeks. She had been so worried that he would never know his child.

“How long?”

“It has been two moons since my last blood.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded again. She had felt exactly the same way when she carried Rhaego in her womb. She could feel her body change in small yet noticeable ways. She was with child, she was sure of it.

“Our child needs his father, Jorah. I feared that I had almost lost you…again.”

“Does anyone else know?” He placed a kiss on her shoulder before leaning his chin there.

“I think Missandei has guessed. I fear she knows me far too well.”

“The small council will need to know. We need to put plans in place. I won’t have you exhausting yourself when you become heavy with child.”

She snorted at that. “My, my. Protective of our little cub, are we?”

He kissed her shoulder again. “I will protect both of you with my life. I will kill anyone that tries to do either of you harm.”

She lifted one of his hands to her lips and kissed it softly. “To do that, you will need your strength, Ser. I suggest you stay abed a few more days and regain it.”

He let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he had no response to that. “I surrender. I shall do as you ask.”

She smiled inwardly. Never had her husband won any argument between them. He was all too resigned to letting her have her way. She could only imagine the way their child would wrap Jorah’s heart around his own tiny fingers, just as she had done so many years ago.


	13. A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms

“Are you ready?” Daenerys asked, watching her husband secure his sword belt around his waist.

He nodded his head and gave her a shy smile, after several days abed, he was ready to leave the confines of their quarters.

Since she had told him that she was carrying his unborn child, Jorah had been far less reluctant to accept her help and had heeded Sam’s words, staying in their quarters until the maester had deemed him well enough to leave them.

For the past few days, Jorah had been content to sit at his favoured desk, completing the wooden bear he’d been working on before he became ill. Although Lana would be disappointed that he’d missed her name day, he hoped that she would still like the small carving. With nothing much else to do except read or whittle, Jorah had begun working on something for his unborn child by asking Daenerys to send for larger pieces of wood.

The crib he was building would be ready for his child’s birth, of that he was sure.

He placed down the book he’d been reading as Daenerys readied herself for the day with Missandei’s help. Although the young woman had been by several times in the last few days, it had only been this morning when Jorah had stood to greet her, that she’d leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“You are looking well, Ser. It is good to see you on your feet once more.”

He looked slightly abashed, realising that Missandei had probably seen him during the darkest times of his illness and convalescence.

“Thank you, my lady,” he responded. “Thank you for taking care of the queen in my absence.”

Missandei could feel tears welling in her eyes at the memory of seeing Daenerys so stricken with fear for her husband. “She needs you, Ser Jorah. Now more than ever. We all do.”

She would never give voice to her fears, but Missandei knew that losing Ser Jorah would destroy her queen, leaving her heart with a wound so grievous that she would never recover. Daenerys Targaryen was a kinder, more benevolent ruler when Jorah was by her side. To lose him would damn them all to a dark path that the queen would be want to follow.

“You give me too much credit,” he scoffed.

“And you do not give yourself enough,” she responded instantly. “You have touched the lives of many people.” Feeling bold, she lifted a hand to his face so that he had no choice but to look at her. “You are a good man, Ser. One of the best I have ever met.”

He screwed his eyes shut. “I have made too many mistakes. I have wronged too many people.”

“Do you still believe that you have no honour?”

The look of shame on his face told Missandei all she needed to know.

“You must forgive yourself, Ser. If not for yourself, then for your child. He deserves to know that his father is a good man.”

—————————

Their first destination had been the stables and it had gladdened Daenerys to see the people they greeted throughout the keep smiling and nodding at the sight of Ser Jorah standing tall and proud by her side as they made their way down the corridors and hallways.

She heard a contented sigh escape her husband as the morning sun warmed them.

“It feels good to be outside again,” he said, giving her one of his rare genuine smiles. For a man as active as Jorah, being cooped up in their quarters for over a week had been difficult for him to deal with.

At least he’d smiled when she placed the stack of books he’d first given her in Pentos into his lap one morning as she’d made herself ready for the day.

“I had no idea you still had these,” he’d said as he opened the first book.

“I have carried them everywhere, Jorah. Nothing gave me more comfort than your books when you were not by my side. I needed a part of you with me.”

“They are only books, Khaleesi.”

She sat on the side of the bed next to him. “They are a symbol of our first meeting. I had thought the books were the gift, but it was you, Jorah. You have been the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. I will always be thankful that fate brought you into my life.”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to respond before he was silenced by her searing kiss.

As they approached the stables, she heard a chuckle escape her husband’s lips as he watched Little Sam trying to corral his horse into a trot around the paddock. The beast could be as stubborn as his rider and was intent on making his own path across the dusty ground. Little Sam had lost all control of Meraxes once the horse had seen Jorah, pulling away violently and trotting over to his master.

Horse and rider greeted each other warmly. Meraxes whinnied and neighed as Jorah ran his hands over the stallion’s snout and head. The horse rubbed its head on Jorah’s chest, snuffling his hair noisily.

“Meraxes, have you been behaving?”

The horse let out what could only be described as a huff through his large nostrils.

Jorah gave his horse a rueful look. “What have I told you?” He said in mock disappointment. “What happened to playing nicely?”

Meraxes responded by once again rubbing his head on his master’s chest. Even the horse seemed to know just how to bend Jorah to his will.

Little Sam, having finally caught up to the errant horse, grabbed Meraxes’ reigns and began apologising profusely.

“It won’t happen again, Ser.”

“No matter, Sam. It is good to see you.”

The young boy looked at him hopefully. “You are well?”

“Aye, your father saw to that, Sam. I want you to report to our quarters at daybreak tomorrow.”

Little Sam broke out into a wide grin. “Aye, Ser.” He looked at Daenerys, “Your Grace,” before guiding the reluctant horse back toward the stable.

“So the rumours are true?”

Daenerys heard her husband groan at the sound of Tyrion’s voice as the small man approached them, smiling gleefully at Jorah.

“You’ve been set free?”

Jorah glared at him. “What does it look like?”

“I see that rest and recuperation hasn’t lightened your mood any," Tyrion sniffed.

Wanting to avoid a scene, Daenerys intervened. “What can we do for you Tyrion?”

“A young boy was caught in the kitchen quarters this morning trying to steal bread. We’ve taken him to the dungeons to be questioned.”

“For stealing bread?” Jorah questioned. “You’ve imprisoned a child because he was hungry?”

Tyrion nodded. “He broke the law.”

“He’s a child!”

Tyrion sighed dramatically. “For a sour man, you have an exceptionally sentimental side to you, Mormont.”

Jorah looked at his wife, knowing that he had no power to grant leniency or change the law to suit his own whims. She nodded her ascent and looked at him curiously.

“Take us to him,” Jorah commanded.

————————————

“Leave us,” Jorah commanded the soldier standing guard over the young boy.

Opening the door, Jorah studied the child, noting that he was nothing more than skin and bones.

“What’s your name, child?”

The young boy kept his gaze to the floor. “Daeron, Your Grace.”

Jorah moved inside, casting a quick glance at his wife as she watched on. He settled himself on the rotten wooden bench in the corner of the cell.

“I am no king. Just a knight.”

The boy risked a glance at Daenerys. “She is the queen.”

“Aye, she is,” Jorah replied. “We’ve heard that you were caught stealing bread. Is that true?”

The boy nodded nervously. “Yes, Ser.”

“Why?”

Still the boy didn’t look up. “My family….we have nothing to eat and my brothers and sisters are starving.”

“I see.”

The boy finally looked up. “Please don’t take my hand, Ser. My mother is sick and father died during the siege. I need to feed my family.” The boy was pleading with him now.

“Your brothers and sisters, how many do you have?”

“Please don’t punish them, Ser!” The boy was almost shouting now, fearing for his siblings. “You can take my hand or my head, but they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“How many?” Jorah asked again.

“Four,” the boy replied, his bottom lip trembling.

“There will be no punishment, child.”

The boy looked at him, clearly confused.

“Where do you live, Daeron?”

“F…..Flea Bottom.”

Jorah nodded his head and looked to Tyrion. “Get the kitchens to prepare enough supplies for six people. Tell them to choose food that won’t spoil.”

“I’m the Hand of the Queen, Mormont. You don’t give me orders.”

“You will do as he says or I will find another Hand,” Daenerys warned, her tone clearly brooking no argument.

“What skills do you have, Daeron?”

The boy looked confused. “Skills, Ser?”

“What are you good at?”

“My father was a gamekeeper before Queen Cersei took all the jobs away. He was killed during the siege but he taught me the basics.”

“From tomorrow you will report to the head gamekeeper and work for him. You will paid enough to feed your family.”

The boy looked at him, still not able to believe what he was hearing.

“Head over to the kitchens, you’ll be given supplies to last a week or more.”

The boy nodded, rushing out of the cell and down the corridor.

Jorah looked up at his wife, running a hand across his beard. “Apologies, Khaleesi. I may have overstepped my bounds there.”

She beckoned him out with her finger and placed a soft kiss on his lips before placing a hand on her growing belly. “I love you Jorah Mormont, you stubborn, sentimental man. There is no other man I would rather bring a child into this world with than you. Even if he only has half your courage, wisdom and devotion, he will be a great man and a great ruler.”

With his father’s gentle manner, courage and devotion and her iron will and determination, their child would surely live to rule Westeros for many decades to come.


	14. A Father's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a short epilogue, set roughly twelve months after the scenes of chapter 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read, commented or given kudos on this little story of mine. I honestly was not expecting such a positive response and I've been overwhelmed by how lovely everyone has been.
> 
> Writing stories is my little escape from the stresses of day to day life and I am so glad that so many people have enjoyed what I very much see as a labour of love. That other people have read and enjoyed what I have written is truly a gift for me and one that I sincerely appreciate.
> 
> It's inevitable that every story has to have an ending and we have finally reached that point with AKFTSK, but I will continue to post More Than Words as regularly as I can. 
> 
> I have some ideas for further stories, but I won't be writing anything other than MTW until the complete first draft of that is finished. I've tried writing two stories at the same time and it just confuses my addled little brain! If it's any consolation, MTW will easily end up being my longest story yet, so I hope you continue to enjoy what happens to our two favourite characters in that one....

“You were missed at the council meeting, Ser,” Daenerys gently chided as she removed her outer cloak, smiling as she watched her husband on the floor with their two young children.

It had been a surprise to everyone that not more than a minute after their son was born, his twin sister soon followed.

Jorah had stayed by his wife’s side throughout the lengthy labour, sheddding tears of joy as first he held his son in his arms and then his daughter.

“They are perfect, Daenerys,” he’d told her, handing them over to her, taking great care not to jostle his precious cargo.

She’d been naked and sweaty, yet she had been the most beautiful sight that Jorah had ever laid eyes on.

She had been sure all along that she would give birth to a boy and they’d already chosen a name. They hadn’t considered for a moment that she had been carrying more than one child.

“Aeron’s little sister needs a name, Jorah,” she said tiredly as both babies gurgled quietly.

“How about Rhaena?” He’d suggested.

Tears ran down her face as she looked at him. Only Jorah could be so sweet and thoughtful as to suggest naming their daughter after the first child she had lost all those years ago.

Both of them were inexperienced when it came to parenting and yet Jorah had taken to it with a serene ease. He was not content to leave the daily care to his wife alone and had eagerly thrown himself into washing, feeding and changing the babies any chance he could.

Although he had been born a minute before his sister, Aeron had struggled at times to nurse at her breast and had been sickly for the first few months of his life. It had left Daenerys weary when his cries repeatedly shattered the peace of the night.

It would be then that Jorah would place a kiss on her cheek and rise from their bed to see to their son, picking him up and sitting on his favourite chair next to their crib. He would place his son on his bare chest, knowing that Aeron would soon settle when lulled by the sound of his father’s strong heartbeat.

There had been times when she’d woken at day break to find Jorah fast asleep in the chair with his son’s head resting on his chest and Rhaena looking curiously at them from the confines of the crib.

At six months old, both Aeron and Rhaena were developing their own unique personalities and yet one thing was clear, both children adored their father and would squeal excitedly at the sound of his voice whenever he returned to their quarters. He would pick both of them up simultaneously, holding one in each arm before kissing their mother tenderly. It would be then that the children would make it clear that they wanted his affection too, and he was more than willing to give it.

Many people had seen Ser Jorah as a hard and cold man, but there was no denying his capacity for love and affection where his children and wife were concerned. The children were just beginning to learn the rudimentariness of crawling and, as tall as he was, her husband would crawl onto all fours to playfully chase them around their quarters, the children giggling and gurgling as he caught them, spinning them in his arms and tickling them.

“Why were you not at the council meeting, Jorah?” Daenerys asked, sitting down heavily on their bed.

He looked slightly abashed. “I had word from Gilly that Aeron wouldn’t settle,” he said, bouncing both children in his lap. “She already has two babes and another on the way. It didn’t seem right to have her struggle.”

Other than themselves, the only people they entrusted their children to were Gilly and Sam. Unlike most monarchs, Daenerys refused to have her children raised by a wet-nurse. Her children would grow up knowing that it had been their mother who had fed them at her breast, not a random woman. She was insistent that her children would always be sure of their mother’s love and affection.

She had even taken a leave of absence when she was heavy with child and for several weeks after their birth. She had left the ruling of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms to her small council while she basked in the warm glow of motherhood.

That Jorah had been so hands-on with his children had helped her to manage both the duties of a mother and a monarch. Still, she had missed his presence at several council meetings recently and even Tyrion had began making subtle remarks about his continued absence.

“Aeron will never learn to settle if you keep coddling him.” She tempered her words with a knowing smile. She may have won many battles between them, but Jorah had become a fierce bear when it came to his cubs. He would do anything for them and she knew that both Aeron and Rhaena would always be able to bend him to their will, just like she had for years.

He looked at her sadly. “I want my children to know that their father loves them. My own father…he was never one for showing any affection.”

“Well, it is clear that you’re not your father’s son in that respect. Our children and I could not have asked for a more loving and gentle father. We are most fortunate in that regard.”

“I am the one who is fortunate, Khaleesi,” he told her sincerely. “You have given me so much more than I deserve. You have made me the happiest man in all of Westeros.”

She came over and kissed him once more. With lasting peace throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the love of her devoted husband and their two beautiful children, Daenerys Targaryen knew that, finally, she was home.


End file.
